Plans of a Madman
by Alina Isoldere
Summary: It's Post-Hogwarts, and Harry has to face the facts: he's going to die some time, so why not now? But is he really just accepting death, or has he inherited too many genes from his father?...
1. Prologue, Resolutions and Sandwiches

Prologue-Resolutions and Sandwiches  
  
The ride back from his last year at school was a very silent affair. No games of Exploding Snap, no butt-whooping games of chess with Ron, just a deafening silence as he sat in his compartment, utterly alone. But that was exactly as it had to be. There was no need to break his friends' hearts when he died, now, was there? Of course not. He had subjected them to too much pain as it was; they did not need any more burdens.  
  
He sat, contemplating exactly what he was about to do with his life. Yes, it was dangerous and risky. Yes, it was more likely he would die than live. And yes, it was all for the best. He could save millions of lives this way, and wouldn't it be worth it? Of course it would be. He had analyzed every point in his reasoning, ironed out every problem that came his way. He had been going through training for two years straight now, under the tutelage of every professor in the school, especially with Dumbledore.  
  
Dumbledore. The one man he could not sever all ties with, the one he just could not make despise him. It seemed that, no matter what he did, he could not make Dumbledore even dislike him. He could not understand it, and after time, he decided it just could not make sense. And he had done some things that simply are not accepted in the wizarding world, no matter what age you happened to be born in.  
  
Ginny was the first of his closest friends to turn away from him when she found out he was a homosexual. Or at least, he "let it slip" that he was gay. They never did figure out his "partner in crime," as they never were supposed to; it is somewhat hard to find an imaginary figure.  
  
He and Ron had had a "falling in" one day due to an argument over Ron's lack of and Harry's abundance of fame and its positive and negative outlooks. In other words, Harry began to brag about his fame, putting Ron down, and Ron reached right out for the bait and started one of the fiercest arguments Hogwarts had ever seen. A never-ending silence between them ensued.  
  
Well, that was one reason. And the fact that Harry disapproved Ron's marriage to Hermione finished off the relationship. That's what turned Hermione from his side to Ron's. Soon, everyone avoided him, as the rumors began to spread of what he had done to his three closest friends, only coming in contact with him when it was dire or about the war, which was dire in itself.  
  
And now he was alone, as it had to be. There was no other way, no other path that could be taken. Fate had been sealed tightly shut against the winds of possibilities and choice.  
  
As he sat in thought, the train had made its way through the land, nearing King's Cross. He alighted from his compartment, cloaked from head to foot, indistinguishable underneath the hood. He alighted from the train and strolled away to find a home of his own before his mind could be overtaken by his emotions. He couldn't let that happen, now could he? No; not an option on this one. He had to be strong, to block out all emotions. He could not let his feelings free, for that would spoil it all.  
  
He walked away from there and stepped into a cab, in need of some more quiet and some rooms to rent. He enjoyed the silence, the sound of nothingness ringing in his ear, covering his sorrows and misgivings. No turning back; the potion was made, the bank account was emptied, the loose ends were all tied off or cut off. This was it. The beginning of the end. And he had never felt more joyously nervous about it.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
He sat comfortably in his chair with his eyes closed, soaking in the sunshine streaming through the windows of his small home in the country. The room was warm and cozy, wood on all sides and even the ceiling, a beautiful medley of mahogany and ash. The couch and chairs were all overstuffed, the rugs on the floor thick and soft.  
  
He opened his eyes slowly, almost unwilling to arouse himself from this indolence. He stood and stretched, yawning slightly. He should probably be getting dressed now; he could not stay in his pajamas all day, though the thought was very tempting.  
  
He was about to go into his room to change when there was a knock at the door. That was odd. Now who could that be? He had estranged himself from all human contact when not related to the War. Only a few months had gone by since he had graduated from Hogwarts; he had just turned 18. Then who could it be?  
  
He decided to take a chance and open the door, waiting for but a moment to make himself look as if he had just gotten out of bed. What he saw was definitely not what he had expected.  
  
On his doorstep stood a small child, no bigger than five, his little face showing the fear and terror in them. " 'Scuse me, mister. I'm lost. I can' find my Mummy, an' could you help me, mister?" The little blue eyes began to well with unshed tears. He brushed them away with the back of his little hand, dirtying the little face slightly with a smudge of brown dirt.  
  
Poor little kid...must have been separated from his mother. He smiled at the little boy and held out his hand to him. "Sure I'll help you find your mother. We just need to get you better first, though, don't we? Won't be able to see your mum through teary eyes!" The little boy smiled a quaking smile and took his hand as they stepped into the house.  
  
The little boy looked in wonder as he stepped into the room. In the eyes of the little boy, it was a beautiful place, a little paradise of sorts, something he had never seen before. He was used to the clean freshness of his house, but the rich beauty here that was so completely masculine was truly an amazing experience to him. He yearned to take off his shoes and socks and feel the beautiful carpets beneath his feet, but he dared not, having been raised by a very upstanding mother, of course.  
  
The young man smiled at the little boy and gestured towards a chair. "Go ahead; take off your shoes and make yourself comfortable. Don't worry about a thing; the furniture will not bite you." He smiled and waited for the little boy to take a seat. Reluctantly, but eventually, the little boy did sit down. The young man sat down on a chair across from the little boy's and made himself comfortable as well. "Hello; let me introduce myself. My name's Harry. And you're...?"  
  
"I'm James, James Boyd, mister," said the little boy, growing somewhat in confidence. "I'm five years old." The little boy held out his hand, fingers splayed to emphasize.  
  
"Well, James, it is a pleasure to meet you." They shook hands in very grave solemnity, the small one fitting comfortably in the large one. Harry had to stifle a laugh very carefully. "Can you tell me where you were when you realized your mother wasn't with you any longer?"  
  
James shifted in his seat a little, his eyes averted to the carpet. "Well, I was sitting, playing, for a looong time, but no Mummy comes to get me. So, I go to find her, and she not there! Not anywhere! So I goes up to your house and asks for help." He finally looked up at Harry. "That good? No get punished?"  
  
Harry smiled slightly. "You'll have to ask your Mum about that when you see her next. But could you tell me where you were when you were playing?"  
  
The little boy's face brightened up slightly. "We was at the shops a ways down the road, Mister Harry."  
  
"Just call me Harry." He smiled at James, his eyes somewhat distant as he thought. Mrs. Boyd was probably out somewhere having a donkey trying to find her little boy. If James had really come from that far away, his mother would never find him any time soon...oh dear; James was in for it.  
  
James' stomach rumbled mightily for a little kid, waking Harry from his thoughts. Harry couldn't help but grin. "Why don't we have a snack before we leave to find your Mum? I'm sure she wouldn't mind." He winked over at James, and James couldn't help but smile. They stood from their seats and Harry led them to the kitchen.  
  
Immediately upon entry, the nose was bombarded with fresh scents of warm cooking, of well-prepared meals and delicious, savory foods being eaten here. James' stomach immediately began to protest even louder.  
  
Harry chuckled slightly. "Seems that stomach of yours is pretty insistent, is it not? We'd better get some food in there quickly. Have you had any lunch yet?" The little boy shook his head. "Well, then, time to make some lunch! I remember what I liked when I was your age..." A blatant lie, but it works for the moment.  
  
Soon, Harry was busy at work, whipping up peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches with the crust cut off. Soon, there was a nice large stack for the both of them to finish off. They began to chow down, with Harry providing some glasses of milk. Unfortunately, he somehow conjured a cow as well. James giggled in delight as Harry slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead and quickly attempted to make the cow vanish, but to no avail, for soon, there were three cows standing there, all with yellow bonnets on their heads, their small horns sticking out from under them.  
  
Harry smiled as he watched James' happiness spread through him. If only everything could be solved with a few misplaced cows and yellow bonnets. Soon, the cows were gone, and they were left with the job of finishing those sandwiches.  
  
But before they could finish their last ones (James' third and Harry's fifth), a loud and exasperated knock came at the door. Harry quickly made his way towards it; he could feel an angry presence on the other side, and did not wish to take any chances. James immediately was torn between finishing his sandwich and watching the action, but decided the sandwich would always be there when he came back, and the action simply wouldn't wait for him.  
  
He watched in awe as the man he now knew as Harry crept oh-so-quietly towards the door and opened it slightly. James couldn't see who it was, but that tone of voice was very familiar, and also the tone that was being used for that voice; he was in some very big trouble.  
  
"Madam, may I help you?" asked Harry politely to the woman who silently raged as she stood at his front door.  
  
"Yes, there is something you could help me with." She flipped a brown curl out of her face and stared right back at him, daring him to stop her. "I'm looking for my son. It seems that his magical presence is here. Do you know where he is? For so help me, if you do, I will get it out of you any way I..."  
  
"Mummy, don' worry; Harry is really nice. He makes good san'wiches." James stood away from the shadows, eyes filled with determination, though slightly shaking in fear of punishment and rejection.  
  
"Oh, James!" Mrs. Boyd came rushing into the room, engulfing her son in a tremendous hug. Harry silently wondered if James could breathe at all.  
  
"Mummy, you're hurting me..."  
  
She pulled back immediately. "Oh, Jamesie, I'm so sorry! Never do that to Mummy again, understood? I was worried sick! If you're somewhere and can't find me, stay where you are so I can find you more readily! Okay, darling?"  
  
He nodded his head solemnly as he looked into his mother's eyes. "I's really sorreeeey."  
  
"Just don't do that again...never do that again..." She cradled her child in her arms, but James was getting a little sick of it. He pulled away and walked towards Harry.  
  
"Mummy, this's Harry. Harry, this's Mummy." He dragged Harry towards his mother and smiled up at both of them. All Mrs. Boyd could do was blush, and all Harry could do was smile amiably.  
  
"Sir, I'm so sorry about all of this, but you know how it is when a mother can't find her little child...I was worried sick that something had happened to him, especially with the world as it is nowadays..." She focused on a spot somewhere to the right of his head, unable to meet his piercing gaze.  
  
"That's quite all right, Mrs. Boyd; I understand. Now, to introduce myself, because you are probably wondering who I am. I'm Harry, as James has stated, and James came to my door to ask me to help him find you, for in his eyes, you were the one that was lost." He smiled slightly. "His stomach decided on lunch before we left on this quest, however, and so here we are, guilty of dilly-dallying over peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches."  
  
"Thank you so much, Harry..." She finally let herself look into his face, and she gasped. "Harry Potter?"  
  
He sighed slightly to himself. Would this always happen? Most likely, yes. At least this would soon pass. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I believe I've been had, James; I've been discovered."  
  
James' eyes widened to donut size. "You're Harry Potter? Wow...hi, mister."  
  
Harry sighed. Would this ever end? Nope. Not yet, at least. "It's Harry, remember, James? Unless you want me to call you squirt the rest of your existence..."  
  
"Okay, then, Harry!" said James, smiling happily. "Mummy, can I finish my mahshmellol and peanu' butter san'wich?"  
  
Mrs. Boyd immediately grabbed James. "No, James; I'm sure Mr. Potter has much to do, don't you, sir?"  
  
"Oh, no, really; I'm free for the day..."  
  
"Well, Mr. Potter, thank you so much for your kind hospitality, but I must, I mean James and...we must be going..." She looked at him one last time in awe and mortified horror, then left the house, dragging a rather put-down James behind her. Harry managed to wink at James one last time, at which James smiled in spite of himself, as the door was shut in his face and he was left alone once more.  
  
The door now closed, Harry slid back into the chair he had been sitting in before, his mind drifting over the odd events that had just happened. Well, what were the chances? Slim, indeed, they were, but they were wonderful when they happened. He'd never have another one of these moments as Harry Potter, now would he? No; Harry was soon going to be gone. And all for the best interest of the world, of course; he never seemed to think in any other way, being the Savior of the World and all. It was simply what he did, what he would always do, and what he would always be. Well, at least until death. And maybe even in death he still could be...  
  
He let his mind wander on these thoughts as he let himself drift off into sleep once more. There was much to do tomorrow. Tomorrow was to be the end of Harry Potter, and Harry definitely wanted to be in top shape for such an event. 


	2. Chapter 1, He Is Just Away

Oops! Forgot a Disclaimer: It's all JK Rowling's, so don't even try to sue me! I don't have anything, anyway! Hee hee hee...oh well. *sigh* Must get something of my own. Plot's mine, though. And some of the unfamiliar characters, as well.  
  
Have fun! And many thanks to Twin Kats for the review!  
  
Chapter 1-He is Just Away  
  
"If I die out there, make sure I'm not cremated, would you, Albus?"  
  
"Harry, what are you talking about?"  
  
"Please, just assure a nervous young man."  
  
"As you wish, Harry."  
  
They paced the tent side by side, heads bent in thought. The wizarding world was about to go through its first official full-scale battle of good against evil in years, and all were nervous, jumpy, and worried; everyone was tense in the lull before the storm.  
  
Dumbledore patted Harry on the shoulders, a slight twinkle appearing once more in his eyes. "I know you will do your best, Harry; you always have, and I have no doubt you will now." He smiled wanly, then left the tent to Harry, who was left all alone.  
  
He stood in solitude for a long while, toying with a small vial of potion he had taken out of his pocket. He turned it in his hands a few last times. Well, it's now or never... He swiftly uncorked the vial and downed the greenish liquid in one gulp. He cleaned the vial with a quick spell and wiped off his fingerprints, then made it disappear into thin air. He strode out of the tent, ready to face the inevitable. It was time.  
  
As he walked outside, he saw the lines beginning to form. There they all were, or at least, those that were left; so many had already been lost. Neville had been one of the first to go, personally slaughtered by Lestrange. Just the thought of that name-Lestrange-made his blood boil. Fred Weasley also died in a valiant effort to save his brother, Charlie, who was killed two weeks later. George still hadn't gotten over it. No one had gotten over any of the deaths, and they probably never would fully.  
  
He made his way to his own position at the head of the front on the right flank. He whipped out his wand, a set mask of determination on his face.  
  
He felt a little tug on his camouflaged robes. A little voice accompanied it. "Good luck, Mister Harry, sir." He looked down to see his guest just a few weeks before. He wore a little black robe, and smiled up at Harry.  
  
"It's Harry, remember?" He smiled down at James Boyd one last time. But before James could reply, his mum was tugging him away quickly. He winked at James and ruffled his hair, a look in his eye that was simply unmistakable: the look of a man resigning himself to death. James and Harry shared one last look in the eyes before they were both forced to turn the other way: the one because his mother picked him up, and the other because he was about to face his destiny, the path he had chosen for himself. Whether good or bad, he did not know, but he did know he had made the choice, and there was no turning back now.  
  
They all stood, shoulder to shoulder in a line, waiting for their fates to be sealed forever. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck, Harry," said the voice beside him.  
  
"Same to you, Albus." He smiled wryly at his mentor. "May this be the beginning of the end, Albus, and may life someday be as light and carefree as it was years before." Albus smiled, then scanned the horizon. Tiny black dots were soon becoming a long black line. He straightened, the hand now off the shoulder of the young man and on the old man's wand. Moments later, all the hells known and unknown broke loose.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Night had finally fallen over the battleground, signaling a quick and brief time of respite, for all would begin anew the next morning at sunrise, if not earlier. This was the time to regroup and strategize, to take a count of those who were living and those who were dead. Many were busy, checking to see whether their close ones had been killed or not.  
  
It was during this time when his body was discovered, lying alone on the battlegrounds, wand still grasped tightly in his hands. Ginny found him, actually, and her heart shattered into tiny pieces. He had been such a good friend before, maybe even more than just a friend...oh, who was she kidding; she had loved him, and had thought he had loved her back...the Savior of the World had left her and now here he was, dead and gone to this world. The sight sickened her.  
  
She ran from the sight and heralded the news loudly, mixed with sobs and shouts of anger. She soon reached Dumbledore's tent. She had to tell him personally; Dumbledore and Harry had become closer and closer to each other, so much as to say they could easily have been grandfather and grandson.  
  
The tent was silent as she walked in. Albus sat serenely in a rocking chair he had conjured, the lines of worry erased by a time of respite. She cleared her throat, her head bowed slightly. He looked up towards her, eyes sparkling slightly. "Yes, Ginny?"  
  
She shuffled her feet a little, then softly blurted it out. "He's dead."  
  
He jumped quickly out of his seat. The sparkle was exchanged for fire. "Who's dead?"  
  
"Harry, sir."  
  
He fell into the rocking chair, eyes closed tightly. Ginny thought he had just aged ten years before her eyes. Maybe twenty. He sat there a few more minutes, and a few more until it dragged towards twenty. Finally, he spoke. "How?"  
  
Her voice was hesitant to answer. "According to resources, he was struck by the killing curse. By Voldemort. From the signs, it hit him straight in the heart..." She choked up, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. Her mind was racing with the scene she conjured in her mind...  
  
The air is wet around us all, heavy with the cruelties of war, the  
sickening murder of war all around. We are unable to escape its  
yawning blackness in front of us, behind us, everywhere. Within this  
yawning blackness a particular battle comes to mind, a fight between  
two foes.  
  
It wasn't even a fair fight, as we look back on it. 'As we look back  
on it.' Makes it sound like something that happened in history books  
when it occurred only moments ago.  
  
He was standing there so straight and tall on a hillside, his sword  
raised above him about to strike that bastard Lestrange when it had  
hit him. He was too preoccupied with killing Lestrange to really pay  
any attention to what was going on around him. It just happened so  
suddenly. One moment, he was about to slice that bitch in two, and  
the next, his blood-covered face showed one last emotion: shock. Pure  
shock.  
  
You see, there was no final confrontation, as we had all hoped. Harry  
would have had a chance then. But that Dark Bastard had to ruin it  
all, had to rush in and catch Harry at a vulnerable moment.  
  
That sneer. Oh, gods, that sneer that came upon that Dark Lord's face  
as Harry fell senseless to the ground. It would make any man spill  
his lunch out on the ground and send shivers of fright up the bravest  
man's spine. That malicious grin of victory shall haunt me the rest  
of my life. All because I could not save him. I could not save this  
man I once loved, who I may still love, even in death...oh, gods,  
death of all things...  
  
Albus stood, his eyes opening to show deep blackness in them. He gently hugged Ginny out of her trance, his own tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. They stood together in silent commiseration, broken now and then by sniffles and sobs.  
  
"Albus, I need to ask you..." began Minerva as she strode into the tent. Seeing the sight before her, she stopped immediately. She looked from Ginny's red and puffy eyes to Albus' lack-luster ones. "What's wrong? What happened?"  
  
Albus stood up and told her, to break it to his good friend and to make himself realized. "Harry is gone, Minerva, to another world."  
  
She looked at him, aghast. "You don't mean he's...gone for good, Albus?" He nodded slowly. She bowed her head, occasionally putting her hands to her face. He offered her a handkerchief, and she accepted gratefully. "So the Savior of our world is...gone. How, Albus? After all the work, the struggles and pain, all the hopes of the world vanished like the snuffing of a candle? How..."  
  
But before she could continue, Albus stopped her. "Minerva, he's gone. But that does not mean our cause is gone. We must keep pushing towards our goal, as Harry would want to have it." He paused a moment. "Speaking of what he wanted, he told me he didn't want to be cremated. A small and quiet burial right after his death, actually." He smiled a wry smile, though his eyes still lacked their sparkle. "I believe it would be best to have a very small, secret burial, hidden from prying eyes and the people on Riddle's side." He sat back in his rocking chair. "Minerva, please prepare the burial for me. Ginny, please figure out a way to take Harry's body without anyone knowing and do it."  
  
Taking this as a dismissal, both Minerva and Ginny left the tent, leaving Albus alone to think and mourn in silence. At least, for a while...  
  
"ALBUS!" The couple barged into the tent, shocking Albus enough to rouse him out of his dark study. "Albus," said the dark-haired woman, "there is a rumor going around saying Harry is..."  
  
"But he is, Hermione; he is." He watched as the couple held each other, Hermione in Ron's arms, finding as much comfort as they could in each other. Albus sighed, rubbing his forehead slightly, then standing, watching the couple, wondering slightly whether Ron would be furious or self-incriminating.  
  
He chose both. "So he died on us. He was supposed to live! Save the world, be our conquering hero! I was supposed to make up him; he was supposed to change. This is not how it was supposed to turn out!" He raked his hands through his hair quickly. "Why? Why did I shun him like that? It was a stupid argument; he was probably just stressed from all the pressure. Heck, I'd be in a foul mood if I were him!" He held his head in his hands, falling to the floor. "But he's gone now...no more stress for him, I suppose..." A gentle hand covered his shoulder, his hand soon coming up to cover it. "Herm, what..."  
  
"Shh, Ron, shh..." She knelt down beside her fiancé, smiling slightly at him. "We need to pay last respects, do we not, Albus?" At this last part, she looked up towards Albus, the solid pillar of constancy in an age of change.  
  
He nodded silently. "A secret burial. Minerva is getting the place prepared while Ginny is finding Harry..." At this last, Minerva came rushing in, hair slightly askew.  
  
"Albus, the place is ready. Where is..."  
  
"Coming, it seems," he said, looking over Minerva's shoulder. And indeed, there was Ginny, a body following closely behind her. She came in, head always turning every few seconds to check on the man she had loved behind her. Both entered the tent. No one spoke a word; their minds and emotions were too busy for words to be uttered.  
  
Albus was the first one to speak. "Good can never last forever," he whispered. He sighed heavily. "Show us the place, Minerva, please."  
  
They made their lonely way towards a forest, Minerva in the lead. She took down some defenses, then found a little knoll. She let them enter quietly, the way covered by weeping willows' branches. "Harry told me to bury him here if he ever died. You can already sense the magic used to defend this place. It is as if he had planned his own death...but that is ridiculous...Albus?"  
  
Albus had fallen into a silent study, wondering at Minerva's words. Could Harry have planned his death? But how? It did not make sense. Harry could not have possibly planned his death in such detail, could he? No; almost impossible. It simply didn't make sense. There was no apparent motive to plan his death, and Albus was closer to Harry than anyone else. And then there was the prophesy...simply impossible. No, Harry did not die of his own will. It had happened, and nothing could be done about it now.  
  
He shook himself from his thoughts. "Yes, Minerva?"  
  
"Are you all right, Albus?"  
  
"Of course I am. Now, if you would, my dear?"  
  
"O...of course." She pressed on a knot in the tree and a large hole opened up. They all walked inside, the room accommodating all of them comfortably. "He asked to be kept in this room, alone with no adornment." She looked around her. The room was bare, made of earth and tree. She didn't know the significance of this place in order for it to be a burial ground, but then again, she had learned in the last few years that she knew very little about many things.  
  
"Albus, would you perform the ceremony please?"  
  
"If you wish it so, Ginny." He stood above at the head of the body. He draped his cloak over the still form, shutting those dazzling green eyes for all of eternity. "Friends and comrades, we stand here today in mourning for the losses we bear, especially for one particular loss: the loss of Harry Potter.  
  
"We shall all miss this young man, so close to his highest point of strength, so close to the pinnacle of his life. But it has been snatched away, doused by the hands of death. The hopes we once had are now lost to us through him. But that does not mean we are allowed to lose hope. No; Harry would want us to keep on moving, doing our best, pressing towards the mark always, whether he was here to encourage us on or not. We cannot let the world down; we cannot let Harry's memory down, either. We cannot let him down by losing hope now.  
  
"So let this last memorial to Harry Potter be something we all pride in, a commitment to the cause that Harry and we all have and still are so devoted to." He bowed his head over the young man, as did all present.  
  
One by one they left, murmuring their last goodbyes and leaving Harry's body. Only Albus remained now. He knelt next to Harry's body, a single tear falling down his cheek. Words were whispered through the air as he left the room, the silent echoes of a wish left to become true, a hope that they all wished could be...  
  
"I cannot say, and I will not say  
That he is dead. He is just away.  
With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand,  
He has wandered into an unknown land  
And left us dreaming how very fair  
It needs must be, since he lingers there.  
And you-oh you, who the wildest yearn  
For an old-time step, and the glad return,  
Think of him faring on, as clear  
In the love of There as the love of Here.  
Think of him still as the same, I say,  
He is not dead-he is just away."  
  
A/N: So, what do you think? Dramatic chapter, but then again, most of them will be. Don't forget to tell me what you thought of it! Post a review! Yay! (Well, I have to do something to cheer myself up after I killed Harry!) 


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